


Interwoven

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo discovers the significance of Dwarven styling habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interwoven

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Ficlet for live-long-and-allonsy-to-221b’s “Kili and Fili braiding each other’s hair while Bilbo watches, not sure why they’re making a big deal about it. Then they let him in on it and then they start braiding his hair” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Beorn’s is a pleasant place to stay, despite the giant bees and the imposing animals. They’re fed well, they have a decent place to sleep—hay might be a far cry from the bed in Bag End, but it’s also a far cry from hard stone—and they can finally _relax_ , without fear of goblins and wargs. Bilbo knows it’s ephemeral, but he enjoys it all the same. 

The dwarves, though some grumble and make a show of wanting to brave on, appreciate it too. He knows that, can see it in their leisured smiles when they think no one’s looking. While Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin huddle inside Beorn’s home and pour over plans with Gandalf, Bombur, Bofur, Bifur, and Nori go off to see if they can get some honey for the road, Dori and Ori look into the cows, and Glóin and Óin help Beorn with chopping wood. Bilbo, too small to be of much use in a land of giant things, sits outside in the grass and enjoys the soft earth beneath his toes. Even for sturdy hobbit feet, this journey has been trying, and it’s nice to just be able to lie about and bask in the sunshine. 

Fíli and Kíli, having weaseled their way out of any chores, sit not far from him. The two of them are huddle close together, like usual. Bilbo doesn’t see anything strange anymore in the way they practically fall into one another’s laps, their legs tangling together as their fingers thread through each other’s hair. If anything, it makes him chuckle to think of them like monkeys or cats, grooming each other so. Then he realizes that Fíli is lovingly twisting braids into Kíli’s long hair, while Kíli knits together the strands of his brother’s golden mustache and beard. They lean into one another as they do it, their noses brushing alongside though their eyes are in different places, their thick but nimble fingers keen on their task. There’s something powerfully _intimate_ about their gestures. They’re out in the open for all to see, but their hushed, gentle air reminds Bilbo of more private matters that should be left behind closed doors. At least, for a hobbit. He’s learned quickly that dwarves don’t always share the same sense of propriety. 

In some ways, dwarves are a crude mess. In this way, they’re delicate and skilled, crafting something beautiful to bring art to their sibling’s looks. Bilbo doesn’t quite _understand_ it, the profoundness in which they do this, but he appreciates the gravity all the same. 

Kíli finishes first, having less to work with, and he runs the back of his knuckles softly down his brother’s chin, while Fíli shivers and nuzzles into him. A moment later, Fíli clasps a little metal ringlet around Kíli’s new braid, smoothing out his hair afterwards and sweeping it back over his shoulders. They’re both devastatingly beautiful, braids or no braids, and sometimes Bilbo catches himself thinking that with a little _too_ much reverence and having to look away. 

Today, he doesn’t do it in time. In amidst their cooing, they look over at him, and he flushes and pretends his glance was merely passing. It doesn’t work. Fíli and Kíli climb to their feet, headed over to him with their arms so close that their fingers may as well be intertwined. 

They plunk down in front of Bilbo, and Kíli asks, “Do you want one?”

Bilbo blinks and says dazedly, “What?”

“A braid,” Fíli fills in. “Since you seem to find ours so fascinating.” He reaches for Bilbo’s hair, and Bilbo turns his head, not far enough to avoid the touch. Fíli’s fingers slide across his skull, brushing back honey locks, and Kíli joins from the other side.

Blushing hotter between them, Bilbo mumbles, “Oh, I don’t—I didn’t mean—” But Kíli’s already tugging straight little chunks, dividing it up, and Bilbo winds up admitting sheepishly, “I was more just wondering why it’s so... important... to dwarves.”

Fíli says, “Ah,” like this is a perfectly logical culture clash, rather than a flimsy excuse to _stare_.

Kíli’s already twisting bits of Bilbo’s hair together. He can feel the slight tug of it, but when he tries to turn his head to look, Fíli’s warm palm slips below his chin and pulls him straight again. Fíli’s other hand pets teasing along Bilbo’s neck, and he murmurs, “Stay still...”

Bilbo does his best. He’s obedient by nature, bred for manners. He tries to be helpful and only look forward, despite all the little twinges he feels from either side. Fíli begins his own braid, Kíli already partway through his. Bilbo’s hair is short enough that their fingers keep grazing his skull, fleeting and soothing, almost like a massage, while their knees shuffle closer to him, their bodies trapping in all the heat. He’s had dreams of being sandwiched between these two, but never ones he’d admit in the light of day. They calmly perfect both of their efforts, though he isn’t sure how they’re going to tie them, as he has no clasps to offer. He can’t look around to see. When they’re done, both braids are dropped, and the brothers brush them back, finger combing out his hair, more sweet touches that feel too much like a caress. As Fíli’s warm finger pads straighten out Bilbo’s bangs, Bilbo’s breath hitches, and Kíli tugs lightly on the braid he finished, purring close to Bilbo’s ear, “Whenever you run your fingers back through your hair and feel these knots, you’re going to remember exactly who put them there. You’re going to think of _me_ , sitting close to you and running my hands along you, making you pretty for me.” Bilbo shivers. He opens his mouth, but doesn’t have the words. 

Fíli presses a lingering kiss to his cheek. A moment later, Kíli gives a fleeting kiss to the other. For one brief, intoxicating moment, Bilbo is trapped between their lips. 

And then they pull away again, both smiling impishly, and they get back up to their feet, Fíli chirping, “Barn?” And Kíli nodding to follow. 

As they walk off, Bilbo looks after them. He understands the significance of the braids now. He doesn’t understand where the brothers are going—perhaps to join Thorin’s talks—but that’s a mystery for another day.

For now, Bilbo pulls his legs up to his chest and tries to school his temperature back down to something remotely reasonable, while his hand tentatively reaches for his hair.


End file.
